The Marquess of Cake (22 page)

“I am tired, but most pleasurably so.”

He smiled. The hunger in his gaze had faded, and his expression was uncommonly sweet. “As am I. I cannot express how pleasant this has been.”

“Yes,” she agreed. But was that all it had been to him?

“Do you need help dressing?”

“No. I will be fine.” She watched limply as he dressed, then unlocked the door and opened it a crack to check the passage.

“I’ll duck out now.”

She stayed on her stool until he was gone. Her life suddenly seemed like a carriage with a broken wheel. Some level of certainty had been lost to her and she didn’t know how to restore equilibrium.

At least she had a memory of heat to carry her through long, dark nights.

Early the next afternoon she was wondering if Michael was purposely avoiding her when a note was delivered to Rose’s room, inviting them to a dinner at a neighboring farm.

“How exciting,” Rose said, from the chaise where she lounged by the fire. “I think I’ll wear my pink.”

“Are you sure you are ready to leave the room, much less go outside in the cold?”

 “I have been trapped here for days,” Rose declared. “This is our chance to be a part of the best society in the area. We cannot miss such an opportunity. Guests of Hatbrook Farm will have a greater entry than daughters of Redcake Manor.”

“I don’t wish you to relapse, Rose.”

“I came here because the air was healthier,” she said with a little dance of her slippered heel against the chair. “It will be fine.”

“At least you have a few days more to rest before we enter society,” Alys said, noting the dinner was three days away. Though she knew society would not accept her if they knew the truth about her relationship with Hatbrook.

Three days had never been spent in such dull occupation. Rose continued to struggle with her breathing, so all of their meals were served in their room. Michael did no more than look in late in the evening, after days spent with his tenants. Alys noticed his waistcoat did not fit as tightly as it had, so he was taking brisk exercise. Rose’s cough worsened at night, so Alys found herself napping next to the fire in the afternoons. At least naps passed the time. But Michael appeared in every dream, making her feel hot and restless.

Otherwise, her primary occupation was making repairs to a gray sateen evening gown for herself, and helping Rose take in her favorite pink gown, since she’d lost enough weight for it to be noticeable.

Finally, the evening came and they were dressed in their finery.

Rose’s cough had improved or she was hiding it better.

“At least I no longer sound like a farm animal braying,” Rose said. “If I can drink tea I should do quite well.”

“I’ll make sure you have it,” Alys agreed. “I’ll tell the marquess that wine makes your wheezing worse. I’m sure he’ll know who to tell.”

“Are you sure he’s coming tonight? We haven’t seen much of the marquess this week.”

“Like Father, he’s a busy man,” Alys said. “We can’t expect him to entertain us when we are unexpected guests.” No matter what had passed between them.

“You are right of course,” Rose sighed. “But it does lift my spirits to see such a handsome man, even if I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.”

“We shall watch him tonight and see if he is more at ease around country landowners.”

“Do you think there will be eligible men at the dinner?”

“I do not know any more than you.”

“I am sorry you’ve been cooped up here with me all this time. I know you prefer to be occupied in more active pursuits. You haven’t had a minute to yourself in days.”

And well she knew it, but she resolved not to be selfish anymore.

“Your health is my chief concern. But if you are ready now, we should go downstairs.”

Forty minutes later a footman helped them dismount at Dickondell Farm. Michael did not join them in the carriage or ride alongside, so they entertained themselves by speculating about the family who had invited them. The house was a large, old pile of local stone, but inside was quite inviting and modern.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” exclaimed Mrs. Dickondell to Rose as they were ushered into the drawing room. She nodded politely to Alys and took Rose’s hand, patting it as she led Rose to a seat by the fire. “We’ve heard all about your illness, dear. I hope a bit of dancing won’t set you back any. I have three sons who are looking forward to it.”

Rose smiled widely. “I’m certain I will be fine, thank you.”

Alys was surprised not to see Michael at dinner, but their hosts didn’t mention him. She was seated next to the youngest Dickondell brother on one side, all of seventeen years of age, and an elderly deaf aunt on the other, while Rose carried on a brisk conversation with Mrs. Dickondell and the Dickondell heir, Clement.

After dinner, the rugs were rolled up in the drawing room. The gardener and one of the stable hands, both talented musicians, were brought in to play alongside Mrs. Dickondell at the piano.

Clement Dickondell spoke for Rose, the middle Dickondell brother took the hand of a fetching cousin who lived with them, and the youngest squired his fifteen-year-old sister, leaving Alys to perch on a chair on the wall, alongside the deaf aunt. She tapped her toes as a reel began, wishing Michael would appear so she might have a partner. But two hours of dancing went by. The aunt snored on Alys’s shoulder. Rose drank half a cup of tea between each dance to keep her wheezes at bay, occasionally sitting out to whisper with the heir by the fire.

 Rose was a palpable hit at the Dickondells’ house. Alys had never felt more like an old maid, and a ruined one at that. If her father thought there would be potential husbands to overlook her advanced age in the country, he seemed to be wrong. Perhaps word of their dowries hadn’t reached this part of the area. Certainly, the family did not treat her like she was in the market for a husband.

At least they had been invited out, but surely they were expected to bring their host along.

“I do hope his lordship feels better soon,” said Mrs. Dickondell, wiping her florid face with a handkerchief during a break.

“Is he ill?” Alys inquired. “We did not see him today.”

“I understood your sister was in fragile health. He probably did not want to overly tax her with visiting today.”

“He has been most thoughtful,” Alys agreed.

“I did expect to see him this evening, however. How do your families know each other, Miss Redcake?”

She gave the simplest answer. “My brother served with the marquess’s brother in India.”

“I see. And your brother?” Mrs. Dickondell paused delicately.

“Was wounded, but he’s home safely now.”

“Ah, that is good to hear.” The lady patted her hand. “We are cousins of the Shield family, to the third degree. I do love genealogy and have traced our family tree back to the royal House of Wessex.”

“How fascinating.” Alys heard a guttural cough, and glanced up sharply to see Rose doubled over, holding her ribs. Her dance partner looked frantic. “I think it is time to order the carriage.”

“Yes, of course.” Concern knotted the lady’s forehead.

Alys wondered if Rose had lost her chance with the Dickondell heir. But she did not always sound so bad. If only she had danced less. The exertion had done it.

When Alys had Rose home and in bed, sleeping with a warm flannel on her chest, she decided to go looking for Michael. After all, after what they’d done together, searching for him wasn’t any more improper.

She found him in the library. He still wore boots despite the late hour. They were thrust in the direction of the fire. She’d never seen him slump before, but he did so now in his chair, with a piece of paper in one hand and a glass of some amber-colored liquid in the other.

Spirits, as she could smell.

In his lap rested a letter. She could just see an envelope peeking out from beneath it, with the words “On Her Majesty’s Service” in typescript.

“It is with deep regret,” Michael said in an ancient voice, so at odds from his usual confident tone.

“What?” Alys asked, dropping to her knees next to the chair so she could see his face.

“That I write to inform you,” was all he said, in the same sepulchral tone.

Alys clutched the shawl she’d wrapped around her sateen. Oh, this was bad. “Your brother?” she whispered.

Michael continued inexorably. “Of the death,” his voice broke.

“Of the death—” He bent his head.

She put her hands on his knee. Her shawl fell around her, tangling in her skirts.

“I should have made him come home,” he whispered. “My God, what a desolate place to die.”

She blinked back tears. “What can I do?”

“Everything changes now,” he said. “Everything.”

“I’m so very sorry,” she said, wondering what he meant. His brother hadn’t been in England for a very long time, and Michael was the marquess, not his brother. So what would change, really, other than a chance of having Judah home again someday? His heart must be breaking at the loss, and he had to inform his mother and Beth.

“Go to bed, Alys. I need to think.”

She got to her feet and nodded. “Is there anything I can bring you?”

“No, thank you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she kissed his forehead, just a quick peck he could scarcely have felt before it was over, and ran out of the room to make sure the staff knew.

Rose was too excited by her triumph to feel ill the next morning. By the time they went down for breakfast, out of respect to the household both in gray dresses and black shawls, the closest thing they had to mourning, the mirrors were already covered in black. The curtains were drawn and the clocks silenced.

Michael was nowhere to be seen, but the housekeeper came in when they were finished eating.

“His lordship would like to see you in his study, Miss Redcake.”

Alys nodded, guessing it was time for them to leave. Since they had been at the Farm for nearly a week at least some new servants would have been hired, and cleaning done at her family home. Rose was better, even if their night at the Dickondells’ had ended somewhat badly. She left Rose with a cup of coffee and went to learn their fate.

From the pure, pale color of Michael’s skin, she doubted he’d been to bed the previous night, but he smelled beautifully of mint and rosemary, and wore fresh clothing. The black band on his arm blended into the dark fabric, and his waistcoat was purest ebony.

Even his hair had been slicked back with a pomade of some kind, blending the blond highlights into the darker hair. He looked forbidding yet utterly exhausted. Alone, but powerful. Desolate, but resolved.

The only sound came hissing from the gaslight sconces along the walls, necessary due to the pulled curtains. Perhaps it was their light that made him look so white.

She twisted her hands behind her, thinking how her work-roughened hands didn’t fit into a place of such purity, such grief, such elegance.

Too loud and healthy for this place she was, with her flaming hair and sturdy body. How had her father ever thought she’d fit into the country gentry?

“Will you have a seat, Alys?” Michael asked with quiet formality.

“No, you must be busy, my lord. I’ve started the packing, so we can return to my father’s house as soon as will be convenient.”

“Why would you do that?”

She furrowed her brow. “Surely you don’t want us underfoot. You must have preparations to make. Is family coming?”

“For what, Alys?” he asked.

“A funeral?” she queried.

He folded his hands across his chest and bent his head for a moment. “I am waiting for word. He may have been buried where he fell.”

“Of course, I see.”

“There is really nothing to be done now, except write letters.”

She nodded. “You asked to see me. Can I be of assistance, then?

Writing the letters? Are you going to go back to London to await word?”

“No. It is Saturday. There won’t be anything to discover in London right away.”

“I suppose not.” She waited, wondering why he’d sent for her.

“Alys, in light of recent events, I feel I should make a change in my circumstances.”

“How so, my lord?”

“I realize this is a bit irregular, but then our situation has ever been that.” He scrubbed his face with his hands.

Poor man, his head must be aching from sorrow and his overindulgence of the night before. “Indeed,” she agreed.

He put his hands, palms out, toward her.

“To be clear, as one must be in these circumstances, I wish to take you to wife.”

Alys felt as if she’d been struck in the heart so forcefully that her hearing extinguished, to be overlain with a dull buzz. She sat abruptly.

Had he really said those words? She put her hands to her breast. “To wife?”

“Yes, I’d like to marry you, as soon as possible. Special license.

Under the circumstances, you know. We shouldn’t wait six months or a year. What if you were already, well, expectant?”

Alys felt her cheeks color. “You didn’t ruin me. I explained.”

“I wish it,” he said firmly. “I like you, and it is really the best thing for you.”

“Oh?” she said in a small voice so unlike her. Why did everyone seem to know what was best for her before she could decide for herself ?

“And for me too, of course. I need an heir now.”

“If I am expectant, of course you’d want the child,” she said, seizing on his reason, that bit of sanity. “Yes, of course.”

“I can get a license from the local vicar. We could marry in as soon as a week,” he said. “That will allow our families time to arrive and for you to make the necessary arrangements.”

“And if I discover I am not with child in that time?” she asked.

“It makes no difference,” he said, the faintest of twinkles returning to his gaze. “We shall have other opportunities. But I think until then we should stay apart from each other, for propriety’s sake.”

She colored again when she realized he’d planned to continue with her. When she had seen him so little over the past week she’d assumed he had experienced a moment of madness with her never to be repeated. It appeared the madness had all been hers. She covered her mouth with her hand, hiding the inappropriate smile that came with the realization that he hadn’t meant to be done with her. Her body would receive his glorious caresses again.